


In Medusa's Shadow

by KelpietheThundergod



Series: The Beast And The Burden [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 09, Slow Burn, mute!Dean, selective/trauma induced mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sees the Beast again in his dreams.</p>
<p>He sees himself, slumped over the kitchen table where he'd sat down after hanging the laundry up to dry. But the kitchen looks darker, the remaining light colder than it should be. And he can see the Beast looming over his back; its huge, round, lidless eyes staring right at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Medusa's Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> First of, I am so, so sorry this update took so long. I tried my best, but real life was against me. I have no idea if anyone is even still following this story—to those who are, I hope you will enjoy this chapter. The next one is already written but still needs to be typed up and beta read. I keep correcting issues and mistakes in the previous parts when I find them, but I really hope they can one day be properly beta read as well (if anyone feels like helping me with that, let me know!)
> 
> This chapter was beta read by the wonderful [loveitsallineed](http://loveitsallineed.tumblr.com/) . It also wouldn't have been possible without the aid and encouragement of my best friend [Lexa](http://denimwrappednightmare.tumblr.com/) .
> 
> Poetry and edit at the beginning are my own (I've also added edits to the beginning of the previous parts if you want to check them out. Please don't expect anything amazingly good though, I'm not experienced with editing and they're mostly meant for visual aid). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, please leave me a comment!

 

 

 

 

 

**In Medusa's Shadow**

_a snake is shedding its skin  
_

_only to reveal_

_another snake within_

 

 

 

Cas drags an agitated hand through his hair. He sounds frantic when he says, “My number is in Claire's emergency contact list and the police just called me. She's in the Mary Lanning Hospital in Hastings, Nebraska. I need to leave.” He shoots Dean an apologetic look, grabs an apple and a water bottle from the shelf next to the sink, “I should be back in about three hours.”

The eggs sizzle in the skillet. Dean turns the heat down even further, then turns toward Cas, hoping for some kind of explanation. Cas can be only talking about Claire Novak, but he didn't mention her before even once. And clearly they must have been in contact if Claire has his number, so why did Cas never say anything?

Cas looks contrite, but he's already moving toward the exit, repeating, “I need to leave. I'll explain later, Dean, I'm sorry.” Then he's gone and Dean is left with coffee that is growing cold and a half-cooked omelet that will be ruined if he doesn't finish it soon.

Dean drags a hand down his face, almost turns off the stove because no one will be here to eat this crap now. But he hates wasting food and Cas will probably be hungry when he returns, so he turns the heat back up instead. His movements remain careful, even though he's gritting his teeth in anger. It's only partly directed at Cas—if Dean weren't so messed up right now, if Cas had any reason to trust him about Claire, Dean could have just come with him. But Cas didn't even consider it, because he would have no time for the liability that Dean is now. Wouldn't need him, because Dean couldn't help him anyway. Leaving Dean behind was the obvious choice, reasonable, rational, and all that crap. But it still hurts, which makes Dean angry, and maybe it's the helplessness of that anger that hurts him the most.

He wishes Sam were here. He wishes that he could use his voice to rage at him until Sam cuts him off with that judgmental bitchface of his and tells Dean to stop being a fucking jerk, and he wishes that after a few hours of sulking from his scolding, they would all be able to just walk past it like they always do. It's sure as shit not healthy, and Dean has never been able to rationalize things the way Sam can, but it's what he knows.

It's not what he can have though, because Sam needs time and Dean can't speak, so he settles for what he _can_ do instead, which is finishing Cas' breakfast, putting a lid on the skillet to keep it warm for at least a while, then making toast and lathering it with peanut butter. Even though it's stupid; it will be gummy and cold by the time Cas gets back.

Dean gets everything done too soon. He sits at the kitchen table, drinks more coffee and tries to ignore how the silence presses against his eardrums like white noise.

>

Dean spends some time reorganizing the shelf next to the sink and the one next to the fridge, because someone— _Sam_ —keeps messing it up, putting stuff where it doesn't belong or leaving the empty containers instead of throwing them away. He keeps calling Dean a neat freak, which Dean always answers with a death glare. For the first time in forever they have a _real kitchen_. Sue him for wanting to keep it nice and orderly.

Cas should have arrived at the hospital a while ago, so Dean shoots him a text asking how it's going. He receives no reply. Dean hasn't heard from Charlie either since she left, so he sends her a text as well. He sits at the table, turns his phone over in hands, waits a couple of minutes.

Nothing.

The uncertainty, or maybe the inactivity, eventually makes him twitchy. He remembers Cas mentioning that the alarm clock he's been keeping in his room was busted, so he goes over there to get it. There's a dog-eared edition of Tolkien's _Roverandum_ on Cas' nightstand, the cover faded and the pages yellowed. Maybe this is the book Cas said he didn't know yet if he liked.

It reminds Dean of the beat-up paperbacks he read as a kid when he had the time. At truck-stops, under the covers with a flashlight. In countless seedy motel rooms while Sam did his homework and Dean waited for John to get him for whatever they were going to be hunting that night. Dean rarely got to keep those books, sometimes not even long enough to finish them. John taught him to travel light. Only the essentials. They needed space in the car for the weapons and Sam's school books.

Sometimes Sam snatched one of Dean's books, curious. But he never seemed to like the ones Dean loved.

Only half of the letters on Cas' alarm clock are blinking and the time is all wrong. Dean unplugs it and takes it back to the kitchen.

He takes the whole thing apart until he finds the defective contact and then gets down to fixing it. Dean's still busy tightening the screws when the bunker door slams closed and then raised voices sound from down the hallway, coming closer. A moment later, Cas rounds the corner, followed by a girl that looks about nineteen. Dean recognizes the blue eyes and round face, but her blond hair is done up in a braid on one side and she's wearing black eyeliner. She has her arms crossed over her chest, the sleeves of her cheap black leather jacket are scuffed, and her eyes are blazing with anger. There's a dark bruise at her left temple.

“You can't make me stay here. Give me my bag, I'm leaving!”

Cas looks contrite, “Claire—” Then he appears to remember that Dean is there, “Dean, Claire Novak. Claire, this is—”

Claire interrupts him, hissing, “I _know_ who he is.” She whips her head around to glare at Dean, and he is taken aback at the amount of hurt and rage in her expression. “I know what he _did_. He helped _you_ and not my Dad, and that's all I need to know.”

“Claire—” Cas sighs and rubs at his forehead, looking agonized. “Claire, please. You're injured. Please **,** just wait a day and rest, and then I'll bring you to the bus station.”

Claire rolls her eyes **,** makes a disgusted sound, and then stalks off.

Cas' gaze follows Claire until she turns a corner, his shoulders slumping. He must decide to let her cool off for a while because now he's sinking into the chair opposite Dean, eyes locked on some fixed point in the middle distance. He looks worried and exhausted, and Dean decides that the much needed explanation of what the fuck is going on can wait until later. He tightens the last screw, sets the time using his watch as a reference, then leans over and puts the thing down in front of Cas. Cas startles and blinks at the clock. Then a weak smile lightens his features a bit.

“You fixed my clock? Thank you, Dean.”

Dean shrugs and shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the amount of gratitude in Cas' voice. He's further embarrassed when his stomach growls loud enough to hear and Cas' face instantly falls. He looks angry at himself, his face turned away and his jaw clenched.

“I forgot—I'm sorry, Dean.”

It's more than Dean can take, but he figures the poor guy has been yelled at enough today—not that Dean could yell at him anyway. So he just reaches over the table for a sticky note, scribbles _you need to chill. and stop apologizing all the time_ on it, crumbles it up a bit and then throws it at Cas' chest.

Cas jumps, having obviously been too caught up in thinking mean things about himself to notice what Dean was doing.

“What—”

He unfolds the paper while Dean gets up and turns the stove on to reheat Cas' breakfast. He smirks to himself because he can _hear_ Cas frown. And Cas does sound indignant when he says, “I don't apologize all the time. And I am _very_ chill.”

Dean huffs a silent laugh at that—Cas is the _least_ chill guy he knows—but decides to let it slide.

Cas thanks Dean again when Dean sets his breakfast down in front of him. Despite his genuine gratitude, Cas picks more at his food than he’s eating it, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Dean is halfway through the sandwich he's made himself when Cas sets down his fork to rest it on his unfinished plate and staples his fingers under his chin.

“I found Claire in solitary confinement in a juvenile center about two months ago. Her mother was gone and she had fled several foster homes. She was—” Cas' mouth twitches, but his eyes look pained. “Very, very angry. Still is, I guess.” He pauses, heaves in a deep breath.

Dean sets his food down and rests his arms on the table to indicate that he's listening. Cas has started worrying at the sleeve of the white dress shirt he's wearing, his gaze lost somewhere on the floor.

“I've ruined that girl's life, Dean. The least I could do was help her, so I got her out of there. But she's been on the road—on the run—ever since. Sometimes she answers when I text her, but mostly not. I only want to help her, but she doesn't listen to me.”

Cas trails off, his expression heavy with guilt and his jaw clenched. Dean wants to ask Cas what made him search for Claire in the first place, why he's never mentioned her before. But Cas seems troubled enough already, so Dean just types _the hospital?_ , then slides his phone over to Cas.

Cas sighs when he reads it.

“She was caught stealing in a 7/11. She fell and hit her head when she tried to make a break for it. She has a concussion.” Cas' mouth twists in pain and he looks utterly lost for a moment. “I don't know what to do, Dean. I want to help her, but she won't let me.”

Dean takes the phone back, mulls over what he wants to say for a minute. He doesn't want to hurt Cas further, but he doesn't want to lie to him either.

_I know you mean well but you're not her dad. You're a constant reminder of her dad. You said yourself she's angry. That won't change overnight. She's got no reason to trust you right now._

Cas' shoulders slump further while he reads, but he nods. “I know. I just don't know what to do. I can't just abandon her, Dean.”

Dean motions for Cas to hand him the phone back, types, then slides it over again.

_Just let her know you're there. It might be enough._

Cas nods again. He seems calmer, if still very unhappy. He goes back to poking at his food but finally shoves his plate away.

“I should go check up on her.” He gets up, then hesitates and turns towards Dean.

“Are you—?”

Dean is licking butter off his fingers, nods and then makes a shooing motion at Cas, partly to cover up his embarrassment. This not being able to eat while alone shit has to stop. It's just ridiculous, not to mention seriously impractical and potentially dangerous.

Dean should probably stay out of this, but after putting their dirty dishes away, he decides to follow Cas. Claire is in the library, inspecting the rows of lore books with a bored expression. Her arms are still crossed tightly over her chest, her shoulders tense.

Cas slows down, sounding cautious when he starts, “Claire—”

Claire, who only glanced briefly at the both of them when they entered, now turns her back on them again. She interrupts Cas, her tone all faked nonchalance,“What, you're already done talking behind my back?”

Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, then lets himself flop down on the couch that's still in there from when he'd been sleeping in the library. Claire does have a point, kind of, but Dean can see they're not gonna get anywhere with her right now.

Cas, of course, doesn't give up that easily.

“You should lie down. And eat something. I can—”

“I'm fine,” Claire bites out. Her eyes are still blazing with anger but she's pale and looking a little unsteady on her feet, though she covers it up admirably. “I don't need you to—”

She's interrupted by the shrill ringing of Cas' cell phone. It makes Dean flinch again, but thankfully, nobody notices. Claire makes a disgusted sound and turns her back on them again, while Cas is already pressing his phone to his ear, asking, “Sam?”

Dean looks up immediately, tries to catch Cas' eyes but Cas is staring at a spot on the floor, listening intensely. Then his face takes on a grim expression and he rubs at his forehead, sighs, “Yes, I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can.” He hangs up, then turns towards Claire, looking chagrined. “I—I need to leave.”

Claire just snorts. She looks bitter. “Of course.” Then she smiles cruelly, “Please, go right ahead. I'm used to people leaving.”

Cas looks pained, and Dean frowns at Claire. This isn't an argument he should get in the middle of though, even if he could. It's not really his place.

“Please, Claire. Just stay here and rest for a day. Dean can bring you to the bus station tomorrow.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at that, but when Cas turns to him, a pleading expression on his face, he can't find it in himself to protest. He does want to know if Sam's okay though.

Cas must realize that too, because he comes over to Dean after he takes one last look at Claire, who's ignoring him. He's nervously fiddling with the phone in his hands when he assures Dean, “Sam is fine. He's just—he needs a hand with the case he's on.” He looks at Dean anxiously. “Will you be okay on your own? Can you—” He mercifully cuts himself off before he can finish asking about the eating thing, and Dean is quick to nod, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He waves a hand in a dismissive gesture in the hopes it'll make Cas stop talking about this.

Naturally, it doesn't work.

Cas hesitates, then plows on with an expression that clearly says he knows Dean doesn't want to hear this, “You didn't eat this morning.”

Dean only glares at Cas in reply. This whole issue could easily be avoided if they would just let Dean come with them. If they insist on treating Dean like a sickly kitten, then everybody's gotta deal with the consequences, which means Dean will sulk.

Cas must realize that the discussion about this is over, because he holds his hands up in defeat and huffs, “Fine.” He's about to turn back to Claire when he appears to remember something else. “I will take the First Blade with me. Hide it somewhere safe.”

Dean swallows and nods, grateful. He hopes knowing that the thing is gone will stop the craving that had surfaced last night from coming back. He doesn't want to want the thing back.

Cas walks back over to Claire then, who has been ignoring them the entire time while staring morosely at the scimitar on display on one of the bookcases. Cas' voice is pitched too low for Dean to understand what he's saying to her. But judging from the way Claire's eyes briefly flicker over to Dean, and how her expression goes from annoyed to wary, then to perplexed, and then right back to annoyed, Cas is giving her the “Dean is messed up but probably won't bite you” speech.

Which probably consists of shit like: closed doors make Dean nervous, Dean has trouble eating alone, Dean has a stupid tremble in his hand that comes and goes, blah blah blah.

Claire shoots an apprehensive look in Dean's direction that clearly says she's questioning who is babysitting whom now.

Whatever. Annoyance is better than pity.

Cas looks dejected when he leaves with one last look in Dean's direction. And Dean does feel sorry for him, so he figures the least he can do is try not to alienate Claire further. The bunker door slams shut, and then he and Claire kind of seize each other up from their respective sides of the library. Dean finally gets up with a huff and motions for Claire to come with him. To his surprise, she does follow him after a moment, though not without a noise of irritation.

She stops in the doorway to the kitchen, sounding impatient when she hisses, “I just said I'm not hungry.”

Dean doesn't know what she likes, and he doesn't think he'd get a reply if he asked, so he's started putting a bit of everything on the kitchen table. He raises his eyebrows at Claire. Realistically that could be interpreted in a variety of ways, but Claire must understand it as the skeptical _Oh, really?_ that it is, because she rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath, then comes over and sits down at the table.

Dean decides he might as well eat if she does—and because watching someone eat is creepy—so he helps himself to a bowl of Fruit Loops. Claire watches him pour milk over his cereal with a mix of disbelief and vague disgust, “What are you, five?”

Dean scowls at her but she ignores him, a resigned expression on her face that seems to say she's figured out who the adult is in this situation, and it is not Dean. Which is in turn belied by the fact that she reaches for the jelly and peanut butter. Dean doesn't know if that is a weird or a hilarious coincidence. Cas' ongoing love affair with Pb&Js would be a tad worrying if Dean cared about what other people like to eat, but then again, it's a comfort food.

Claire looks around the kitchen while she eats, “So, you guys actually _live_ here? Wow. And I thought my life was messed up.”

Dean frowns at her. The bunker is _awesome_. But there's a bitter twist to Claire's mouth, and Dean sighs, pulls out his phone.

_I know this is probably the last place you wanna be. But it beats jail, trust me._

Claire just snorts when she reads it, “Right. I'm feeling _so_ blessed.” Then something seems to occur to her and she frowns at him, “Can't you sign?”

Dean grimaces and shifts uncomfortably. Then he raises an eyebrow at her, because how would that help unless—?

Claire shrugs. “I can understand it.” Then she hesitates, adds, “Kind of. A little bit.”

She shoves her empty plate away then, clearly done with both eating and making conversation. Dean huffs out a breath, reaches for his phone again.

_Come on. Let's watch TV in Sam's room._

Claire follows him out of the kitchen, though it's probably more out of boredom than any real desire to be in his presence. Not that Dean can't understand why they wouldn't be Claire's favorite people on the planet.

Dean strips the covers off Sam's unmade bed, then plants himself with his back against the headboard. Claire reluctantly sits down at the other side, “What is this, a slumber party?”

Dean doesn't dignify that with a reply. He doesn't have his hands free anyway, already grabbed for the remote to switch on the TV. He hesitates for a moment, then holds the remote out to Claire. She looks surprised for a moment, then takes it with a smirk. “You realize this is a mistake, right?”

Dean just rolls his eyes and motions at her to go for it.

Claire clicks past several shows on Netflix, then selects an episode of _Gilmore Girls_ at random and smirks at Dean again. “Have fun!” She settles back against the headboard, pulls out her phone and very pointedly ignores everything that's happening on the TV screen.

Dean scowls at her and decides to be stubborn, crosses his arms over his chest and pretends he doesn't mind watching a show made for teenage girls. Except it works a little too well, and he soon finds himself actually watching, wanting to know if Lorelai is going to get to meet Luke's daughter April, and if Rory will be allowed to see her stupid boyfriend in the hospital.

Claire must notice at some point, because she looks up from her phone and pauses. Then she asks, sounding appalled, “Are you actually watching this crap?” Dean glares at her and she throws her hands up, “Alright, geez, no judgment.”

Around the end of the episode Dean becomes aware of how still Claire is sitting, and when he throws a glance at her, her eyelids are drooping, though she appears determined to stay awake.

Dean gets off the bed, grabs a note off the notepad on Sam's desk, scribbles his phone number on it.

_If you need something and can't find me. Bathrooms are down the hall. Gonna go start some laundry._

Claire takes the note but then goes right back to whatever she's doing on her phone, sounding bored when she says, “Knock yourself out.”

>

Dean takes Sam's covers with him to the laundry room. Normally, he wouldn't bother—Sam can wash his own shit—but he doesn't have that much to wash, so he might as well do it. Dean has always preferred things to be clean but he might be going a little overboard with that lately. He figures having been kept in a dank hole for almost a year means he's entitled though.

Thoughts of his prison always make him feel claustrophobic though, so he focuses on what his hands are doing as he fills detergent and fabric softener into one of the Bendix Deluxe washing machines. The Men of Letters must have installed them here after the model was first introduced in 1947.

Sam thinks they should invest in something more modern. Dean, though, has the suspicion that Sam can never quite figure out how the ones in the bunker work, and that's why he keeps dumping his laundry on Dean. That or he's just fucking lazy.

Dean likes these old beasts though. They're loud as fuck, that's for sure, but they're sturdy and solid and dependable. Anything new and shiny would just look out of place in the bunker, and Dean likes the nostalgic atmosphere of this place.

Dean's phone vibrates in his pocket while he's still stuffing his and Sam's covers into one of the machines. He chooses the settings he wants—not that there are many to chose from—and turns the machine on. It rumbles to life, and Dean sits down in the one uncomfortable chair next to the door.

The text is from Cas.

_How is she?_

Dean texts back,

_Tired. I don't think she'll make a break for it._

There's no reply for a while, and Dean turns his phone over in his hands, listens to the laundry tumble around in the machine.

Then he gets,

_Thank you, Dean :-)_

Dean is not sure what Cas is even thanking him for, but his phone vibrates again before he can ask.

_Sam is hunting a Djinn and asked for back-up. Do not tell Claire._

Dean frowns at his phone. This whole secrecy thing is really starting to get on his nerves, especially since he can't see the point. He's about to ask what this is about when he gets another text.

_I just want her safe. I will explain when I get back, I promise. I have to keep driving now._

Dean rubs at his face in frustration. He doesn't like this. But he grits his teeth and responds,

_Alright fine._

He waits for a while but his phone stays silent. Cas must be driving again.

Dean finally gets up with a huff and goes check on Claire.

When he gets to Sam's room, the girl is slumped against the headboard, her phone still held loosely in her hand, Sam's pillow at her back, fast asleep. Some kind of documentary about satellites is playing on the TV.

Dean reaches for the remote on the mattress beside her and turns the volume lower.

He doesn't really want to come closer, much less touch Claire while she's asleep, but the bunker tends to get chilly. He gets one of their spare comforters, carefully lays it over Claire's legs. She doesn't wake up.

He leaves the lights on and the door open when he leaves.

>

Dean sees the Beast again in his dreams.

He sees himself, slumped over the kitchen table where he'd sat down after hanging the laundry up to dry. But the kitchen looks darker, the remaining light colder than it should be. And he can see the Beast looming over his back; its huge, round, lidless eyes staring right at him.

A part of Dean knows it's not real, that he's dreaming. That the Beast doesn't exist. But his hands and chest are cold with fear and his heart is beating wildly in terror. He can't feel the ground under his feet, but he does feel the hard surface of the table under his arms. He can see the Beast's weight press him down onto the table, feel its cold breath on his neck. Its huge black claws slide over his right arm, then start to painfully dig their way inside—

Something hits Dean's forehead and he jerks awake, pushes himself up hurriedly and sucks in a breath, his heart racing.

Claire is sitting in front of him at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of orange juice and thumbing through something on her phone. Between them on the table lie three tiny balls of crumbled up paper.

She must have thrown them at him one by one to wake him up.

Claire briefly looks up from her phone, “You looked like you'd rather be awake.”

Dean exhales shakily and rubs at his face with his hands. His right hand is trembling faintly again, and a dull ache is running through his arm and all the way up to his shoulder. Dean grimaces and rubs at his arm, looking around for his phone.

“It's just past three p.m., in case you were wondering,” Claire remarks casually. Dean looks at her, then realizes that isn't even her phone she's holding.

“You really shouldn't leave your phone lying around when it's not even locked.”

Dean frowns at her and holds his hand out, demanding it back. Claire ignores him.

“So **,** I guess you weren't going to tell me what Cas told you, huh?”

Dean lets his hand fall back onto the table with an irritated huff, then curls his fingers into a loose fist because the stupid tremble is pissing him off. When Claire is finally done reading through his messages, she slides his phone back over to him, her face closed off. Dean can understand her being frustrated, but that doesn't mean he's okay with her stealing his phone. But before he can express that, Claire is saying, her tone flippant but her jaw tense, “Did he also tell you that a Djinn killed my mother?”

Dean's shock must be evident on his face, because Claire grins without any real amusement, “Wow. Guess he doesn't trust either of us.”

Claire shifts in her seat, facing away from Dean. “She disappeared. Just—up and left.” She makes a throw-away gesture, her tone indifferent but her eyes hard and glassy. “Just left a note saying she was going to go find my Dad.” She swallows, picks at the cuff of her jacket. “She'd send me postcards on and off. But then they stopped. Missing person's report brought up nothing but some guy claiming he'd seen a woman matching her description being dragged off by a person glowing blue all over.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “Police said he was nuts. But I knew a monster had done it. Been trying to track the thing down ever since.”

She turns to look directly at Dean, her eyes shining with anger and pain. “I know she's dead already, I'm not _dumb_. And if I can't be the one who kills the thing that killed her, fine. I just wanted to see— to _know—_ that it’s over.” She swallows, shrugs, then shifts away again and pulls out her phone.

Dean stares at her, a painful cold weight in his chest.

And then he makes a decision.

He rips another note off the notepad, quickly scribbles on it, then shoves it over at Claire and stands up.

_Okay, let's go._

Claire looks at it and frowns in confusion. “Go where? Hey!”

Dean snatches her phone out of her hands, opens a text message field and types, then hands it back to her.

_Steal a car._

 


End file.
